


I'm Fine

by LMDrums



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aches and pains, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, John Watson Whump, John's Scar, Medicine, Old War Wound, Pain, bad shoulder, shoulder pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 10:19:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMDrums/pseuds/LMDrums
Summary: Sometimes after a long day in the clinic, John's shoulder aches. All he longs for is to be alone and rest; too bad everyone keeps bugging him... except for Sherlock, of course.





	I'm Fine

If there was one thing that John Watson hated, it was the burning pain that engulfed his left shoulder after a long day in the clinic. Granted, he was thankful he could move his shoulder at all after that damn bullet shattered his clavicle and scapula and damaged just about every ligament. The nerve damage was extensive, and he was reminded of it about once a month when he pushed himself too bloody far. 

Looking down at his watch, John saw that it was merely 4:30 pm. He still had hours left in his shift, but the agonizing pain in his shoulder was clouding his mind. He’d spent the previous night on the sofa after getting home at 3:00 am and being too damn tired to drag himself upstairs. 

Awakened early by an incredibly stiff and growingly painful shoulder, John knew today would be dreadful. Just a mere five minutes of sitting in his office chair after his last appointment had left John restless and increasingly annoyed by the fiery ache manifesting in his shoulder. 

He reached up to gently massage out the mass of scar tissue that resided over the joint. He dug his thumb into the center of the scar in hopes of releasing some of the tension but only succeeded in yelling out curses when the pressure proved too much. 

Left with no other option, John knew he would have to dig out his lidocaine plasters in hopes of getting some kind of relief. He couldn’t resort to his prescription pain meds without compromising his ability to perform his job with a clear mind, so the plasters would have to do. 

There was just one problem. He had left his bag, which held all of his pain relief, in the break room. He knew his posture would be uneven as he tended to favor his right side during such flare-ups as these; however, he was going to have to deal with it and try to mask the reflex if he was to make it back to his office without a concerned nurse bugging him. 

John slowly dragged himself to his feet with only minor grumblings. Pulling himself up to full military height, he evened out his shoulders with a wince. 

He pushed open the door and made a quick break to the room across the hall. Upon entering, he almost turned right back around when he saw the decorated table that now stood between John and the locker with his bag. 

“Hey, John,” Sarah greeted. 

Fuck. There was no way he was going to be able to fool her into thinking he was fine. He could barely keep himself from cradling his arm, let alone carry on a conversation; he had to at least try.

“Sarah,” he nodded, “What is the table all about?” 

“Just a staff appreciation thing,” she smiled, “We were hoping to get everyone in here for dinner after the last patients.” 

“That’s a--” He grimaced as he felt a muscle spasm in his shoulder.

“John? Are you feeling okay?” she questioned, obviously concerned. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to see that she still had feelings for John. 

“Yeah, yeah… I uh… I just needed to grab something from the bag in my locker,” he remarked as calmly as possible while motioning behind the table. 

“Oh,” she remarked in understanding, “it's a bit tight back here.” She gestured to the table. 

“I can see that,” he tried to smile in order to mask the growing discomfort growing evident through the pained lines marking his forehead. 

“Let me grab it for you,” she insisted. “What did you need out of here?”

Shite. There was no way he was pulling this off. Might as well admit to her that his shoulder was acting up; if he was lucky, she might even send him home. 

“Just uh… the lidocaine plasters and the bottle of paracetamol…” his voice tapered. It might not help with the nerve pain, but at least the throbbing from his previously shattered bones would subside a little. 

She quickly nodded and went searching through his bag after eyeing him with concern. She came upon a pain prescription made out to John Watson. It was a surprisingly high dose. Deciding not to push herself into his life, she tossed the bottle aside and pulled out the two objects that John had requested. 

“Shoulder acting up again?” she inquired. 

John just pulled his lips into a straight line and raised his eyebrows as if to validate her claim. 

“It’s fine… just hurting a bit,” he assured her. 

“Here.” She held out her hand to reveal three pills. John took them in a grateful manner as he was able to avoid the battle of getting the pill bottle open with one hand. 

“Let me help you get the plasters on. I’m sure it’s hard with one hand,” she insisted. 

“That’s okay, Sarah,” he assured. “It’s really hard to get them in the right places. You don’t have to go through the struggle with me.” He bit his lip. 

“Then I’m definitely going to help you. There is no sense in you fighting one handed to get these on.” 

“Fine.” He shook his head. This was a horrible idea. All he wanted was to go home and get away from this situation despite the guaranteed quest Sherlock was sure to pull him into just moments after he would arrive back. 

He walked over and sat himself down on a chair in the corner. With a fair amount of cursing, John got his shirt unbuttoned and his left arm through the sleeve. 

“It’s a bit… ugly,” he warned. 

“John, I’m sure I’ve seen worse.” 

She, of course, was wrong. The amount of scarring was immense and the joint itself was beginning to swell much to John’s dismay. 

Sarah peeled her eyes away from his pasty shoulder in an attempt to save his dignity. She quickly got out a plaster and prepared it for placement. 

“Where do you want it?” 

“I usually put one below my collarbone.” He closed his eyes. “There is a metal fixation plate just on the bone, so I avoid that area… can’t feel much there.” 

She nodded and looked up to meet his eyes. Thankfully, he had his eyes squeezed shut as he was preparing for the foreign fingers to make contact with his incredibly sensitive shoulder. 

John was clenching and unclenching the fingers of his left hand. The white-knuckled fist he would create just gave way to a relaxed form as he allowed his fingers to loosen. John watched as her eyes became glued to the movement. 

“I’m losing some feeling in my fingers,” he explained. He hoped to avoid any further questioning. 

She, again, nodded and went to preparing another plaster. Eventually, three white strips covered various strategic locations along his shoulder for maximum relief. 

Pleased with the placements, John leaned back into the chair he was sitting in and brought his right hand up to squeeze his left shoulder. He let his head fall back as a heavy sensation washed over him. It had been a long time since such a bad flare up or ache had occurred. 

“John, why don’t you call it a day,” Sarah suggested. “I’ll see the rest of your patients. You look like you could use some rest.”

John knew she was right. He had caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror on his way to the break room earlier. He looked years older when he was in pain. 

He sighed and mumbled, “Thanks.” 

She got up and lightly placed her hand over his own which was still guarding his shoulder; she was careful not to apply any bit of pressure. 

“Be careful on the way home.”

John snorted and grimaced at the same time. He couldn’t count the number of times people had rammed their shoulders into his own and didn’t stop to acknowledge that they had practically left him gasping out in pain. 

Raising himself up from the chair, John made his way out the door of the break room with his bag, which Sarah had so graciously retrieved, slung over his right shoulder knowing full well that his left shoulder couldn’t take any weight at the moment. 

After what had seemed like an eternity, John made it to the front steps of 221B Baker Street. He trudged up the stairs with extreme thanks that Mrs. Hudson wasn’t in their flat when he arrived. 

God, he was tired. Not only was he in pain, but the sleepless nights of the past week were catching up with him. Knowing he would regret it later, he fell onto the sofa and wedged a pillow under his shoulder in the vain hope of making his awakening later less painful. 

Within minutes, John had fallen asleep with his right arm slung over his eyes to shield himself from the light seeping in through the windows and his left arm in an “L” across his stomach to achieve some form of comfort. 

In this flat, getting to sleep for 45 minutes was honestly a blessing; however, John was still royally pissed to be awoken by Donovan and Lestrade. He slowly opened his eyes in the hope that their presence wasn’t real, but he was disappointed to see the very real faces of two people he usually enjoyed being around. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” John muttered. “What happened to knocking?”

“Sorry, John,” Lestrade remarked, obviously confused by the doctor’s violent outburst. 

“You feeling okay, John?” Donovan motioned to the pill bottles, lidocaine plasters, heating pad, and card for a local physiotherapist laying on the table. 

John looked over at the table with wonder as well. He knew Sherlock was behind the whole scheme. Whenever John was struggling with his old war wound, Sherlock would go out of his way to get John whatever he needed and schedule appointments for therapy. 

“Sherlock is just dramatic,” John explained; although, he would never admit how much it meant to him that someone cared about his pain. 

“Mate, I’ve never seen someone look so uncomfortable while sleeping,” Lestrade began. “I don’t think Sherlock really overacted.” 

John just closed his eyes and through his right arm back over his eyes. 

“Look, I would usually be happy to help you track down Sherlock,” John started, “but I really need to sleep and rest my shoulder.” 

Lestrade gave him a look of sympathy; this was the one look that John Watson hated. He hated being pitied. He damn well knew that most people wouldn’t live through the injuries he sustained, and he definitely was aware of the anguish he suffered due to his loss of mobility and range of motion. If there was one thing he did know, it was that he didn’t need the sympathy of others when he barely dwelled on his wounds himself. 

Trying to contain himself from yelling, John took a deep breath. 

“I’m fine; I’m going to be fine. I just need to go back to sleep,” John pleaded. 

With that, Lestrade and Donovan left the small and unkempt flat. John quickly fell back asleep within a couple of minutes of their departure.

It wasn’t until 9:00 am the next morning when John awoke again; however, he found himself in a bed that was unfamiliar. Glancing around, he quickly identified it as Sherlock’s. 

Pleased to find the majority of the pain from the day before to have dissipated, John reached up to remove the plasters. Much to his surprise, his fingers instead found the rugged edges of his scar and a long since melted ice pack. 

John raised himself up from the bed and allowed his back and shoulders to realign after having slept for such a prolonged time. He began to make his way out into the sitting room before he noticed that he was only in his boxers and a cotton undershirt. Swiftly finding a laundry bin, John threw on a pair of trousers and a jumper. 

By the time John had made it back to his chair in the living room, Sherlock had already readied him a cup of tea and placed a bottle of pain meds beside the mug. 

“Thanks for moving me last night,” John called into the kitchen, a bit embarrassed, but he wouldn’t admit it. 

“You are so insufferable and stiff after sleeping on the sofa. Really, John, this was for my own benefit. You are of no use to me if you are unable to move,” Sherlock reasoned. 

“So that’s why you took off my work clothes, peeled off the lidocaine plasters, and replaced them with an ice pack?” John teased. 

“Precisely. Each a necessary step in your rehabilitation. Along with the appointment I made for you for this afternoon to discuss further treatment options.” 

John looked at him with a face of confusion. 

“Oh don’t be dull!” Sherlock begged. “You know that your simple methods of pain relief aren’t effective enough.” 

“Whatever,” John compromised. 

Deep down, Sherlock really did care about John. It pained him to see the discomfort that so often consumed his best friend and forced him into a state of agony. 

“It really is imperative that you keep your health at a peak, John,” Sherlock informed. 

“Oh really?” John mocked. “I was unaware.” 

“I really would be lost without my blogger.” 

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed and comment with your review. Lmk if you have other prompts you are looking for someone to write! Check out some of my other stories for different fandoms as well!


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